


The Edge of Darkness Series

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Series: Edge of Darkness [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-22
Updated: 2003-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series in which Aragorn takes the Ring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Title page

**Author's Note:**

> Series warnings: Contains, in various measures: blood play; bdsm, knives; dub-con; rape; graphic torture; murder; fratricide; snuff sex; and minor necrophilia due to the aformentioned snuff.

  
Did not Gandalf tell you  
that the rings give power according  
to the measure of each possessor?  
Before you could use that power  
you would need to become far stronger  
and train your will to the domination of others.

_-Galadriel to Frodo, "The Mirror of Galadriel"_

  
In that hour I looked on Aragorn  
and thought how great a terrible a Lord he might have  
become in the strenth of his will, had he taken the Ring  
to himself. Not for naught does Mordor fear him.

_-Legolas to Merry and Pippin, "The Last Debate"_

  
'But were it to come to the hand of  
someone of power or royalty, as say the Lord Aragorn,  
or the Steward of this City, or Elrond of Imladris, or even  
to me, then he being the Ringlord would wax ever in power and  
the desire of power; and all minds he would cow or dominate so  
that they would blindly do his will. And he could not be slain.  
More: the deepest secrets of the mind and heart of Sauron would  
become plain to him, so that the Dark Lord could do nothing  
unforeseen. The Ringlord would suck the very power and thought  
from him, so that all would forsake his allegiance and follow  
the Ringlord, and they would serve him and worship him as a God.  
And so Sauron would be overthrown utterly and fade into oblivion."

"The what is the use of this Ring?" said Imrahil.

"Victory,' said [Gandalf &gt;] Hurin Warden of the Keys. 'At  
least we should have won the war, and not this foul lord of Mordor."

_-HOME, volume 8: The Last Debate_

  


* * *


	2. Seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn takes the Ring. Boromir swears fealty.

It was late at night and the woods in which the Fellowship camped were quiet. Leaves rustled in the breeze and somewhere an owl told the sky of its day, but Boromir paid them no attention. He sat alone on a half-chewed log, while Aragorn paced before him. His attention was caught, as always, by the long sinewy movements of Aragorn's arms as he walked, the strong muscles of his legs pushing against the ground.

"It makes a strange sort of sense," Aragorn was saying. "After all, it's really mine."

Boromir made a noise of agreement and continued to watch his friend. Aragorn had been talking naught but of this for days. Boromir had heard the arguments time and time again and was getting tired of them. After all, hadn't he been the one to supply them to Aragorn in the beginning of their journey? Hadn't he been the one to plant the seeds in Aragorn's mind? The tree was not interesting until it bore fruit. Until then, it was just another tree.

But the tree was working on that. "Isildur gave his life for it and bequeathed it to his line forever. It's weregild for my ancestors. It does not belong in the little hands of a hobbit. The payment taken for a king's life should never be given over to a child for safekeeping, not while there are men around."

"You were the one to give the Ring to him," Boromir reminded him and smiled slightly in the dark. Budding. This was almost too easy. And once Aragorn came to the decision Boromir had arrived at two months ago, he would finally take what was his. And then they could get out of this wilderness and return to Minas Tirith.

"I recant on that now!" Aragorn said with sudden heat. "I recant on that stupid, foolish decision. I should never have deferred. The Ring is mine! It passed to men and among men it must belong. Who else can master it? Who else has the power to use it?"

"Sauron?"

"'Sauron'?" Aragorn mocked. "Sauron is weak. Disembodied. His Nine will ride for whoever wields the Ring, his Orcs are not much better. And even Saruman will bow to the power of the Ring, like he has bowed to Sauron this past year."

"It is not wise to underestimate wizards."

"Is not the bearer of a Ring a wizard in his own right? How else do Elrond and Galadriel control their domains, fighting against the wearying of their kind?"

Ah, so Elrond did indeed wield one of the elven rings. Boromir had not known. "Don't grow too rash, my friend. Birthrights are not always freely given."

"You think I do not know that, son of Denethor? Have I not these past sixty years worked for my birthright, worked to be called King of men? The Ring will only aid me. It is no trinket, my love. It is the key to my inheritance that was stolen from me."

"And I will see you King of Gondor," Boromir soothed, "yet, do not grow foolhardy. The taking of a ring is no mean feat."

Aragorn sighed. "Your counsel is good, Boromir. I take it to heart always." He sighed again and sat down on the log next to his brother in arms. "I admit to being in need of it now. The Ring calls to me and I cannot help but heed its song. Can you not hear it, Boromir?"

"I can."

"What does it sing to you? What does it promise you? Can it truly keep its promise?"

"I suppose it depends on the promise. The Ring shows me peace, something I have never known. I suppose it can deliver that. But I cannot counsel you until you have told me all. You know that, Aragorn."

Aragorn was silent for several moments, then he said carefully, "The Ring is circumspect in its offer. But at the root of all my visions is one thing."

When Aragorn was not forthcoming with more information, Boromir prodded, "Which is?"

"You."

Boromir caught his breath and did not answer. Aragorn seemed not to notice.

"I see you. So many different ways, my dear, but so much the same. You are my lover, my prince, my willing servant. Steward to the Ring. Avenger. My enforcer, for all kings have a need of a strong man to carry out his will."

"And how do you see me?" Boromir whispered.

A smirk graced Aragorn's chapped lips as he slipped into memories. "I see you tied up, spreadeagled on a bed in Minas Tirith, which I have renamed Barad-âr - the tower of the king. I blindfold you usually, so you can feel with such accuracy every thing I do to you. Sometimes I tie you face down, but other times I want to see your face, your emotions, as I slowly pierce you. It's wonderful to enter you, the feeling never fades over time. And sometimes I undo your gag and make you suck me, make you swallow me. I like both your holes so much." Boromir moaned at the imagery, but Aragorn did not notice. "And sometimes I have you kneel before me and tie you like that. A perfect subject, bowed in supplication. So beautiful. So willing. And you're all mine, to do with as I wish. I can restrict you to just these rooms and take you whenever I desire. I can have you live beneath my desk, giving me pleasure as I work. I can bring up prisoners and watch you kill them, and then make you bathe in their blood. I can order you to pleasure complete strangers." At that, Aragorn seemed to come back into himself. "But I won't," he added quickly. "Because you'll be mine, Boromir. And I won't share you. I'll keep you to myself always. I'll tie you to the bed, chain you to a wall, so you cannot leave me."

"You won't have to do that," Boromir cupped his king's face in his hands and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Not unless you want to, not unless you want to see me degraded. I can worship you without duress. I can love you without provocation. I can be yours, Aragorn. All you have to say is that you want me."

"I want you. Do...do you want it? Do you want me like that?"

"My liege, I want you any way you are willing to have me. If I haven't made that clear before now, then let me make it clear now." Boromir moved off the log and knelt before Aragorn, taking the stunned man's hands in his. "I love you, son of Arathorn. I want you. I will do anything for you. If you wish me to swear fealty now, I will do it."

"You-you are willing to do that now?" Aragorn looked around their surroundings with some confusion. "This is hardly the right setting-"

"No, there will never be a better time," Boromir declared. "Because if I don't do this now, I know you won't believe me. You are so humble, Aragorn, and so modest. You don't see your own beauty. You don't see how truly wonderful you are. You don't see how truly worthy you are of all Middle-Earth bowing to you. As I want to. Let me do this." Moving into a slightly more comfortable position on his knees, Boromir took a deep breath and began. "I, Boromir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, do here swear fealty and service to Aragorn, Arathorn's son, Arador's son, who was born of Argonui of the line of Valandil, Isildur's son, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or dying. From this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world ends, I am forever my king's. So say I, Boromir of Gondor, and so I shall uphold. I do swear."

Aragorn was so far gone not to remember the proper response. "And this I, Aragorn, Arathorn's son, Isildur's heir, do hear and witness, and this I will not forget, nor let pass from memory. Rise Boromir, son of Gondor, bondman of your king, and receive your due." Boromir rose and Aragorn leaned up to kiss his jaw. "You didn't have to do that, my love."

"I wanted to," Boromir said. "Now, my liege, if you will let your servant show you of his loyalty, I will prove to you my oath."

"How could I refuse you anything?"

Boromir smiled at that and knelt again, this time putting his head instead of his hands in his king's lap. His hands sought out the ties of Aragorn's leggings and breeches and untied them with the skill of one who had done this many times. He was pleased to note that Aragorn was already half hard. It took only a few strokes to bring Aragorn to fullness and then Boromir dipped his head. "Shall I endeavor to swallow you whole, my liege?" He asked, letting his breath be felt on his king's arousal. Aragorn moaned in response and Boromir took that as an affirmative. He matched his words to actions, sucking and swallowing faster and harder than normal. He knew Aragorn would not last long, not after all of this.

"Boromir! Strider! What's..."

Boromir turned his head slowly to the side, careful of his king's cock in his mouth, and was barely able to make out a small shape in the dark. Aragorn's hands tightened in his hair and stroked his beard almost absent-mindedly. "Finish it," Aragorn whispered harshly. Boromir shook his head and motioned as best he could to the astonished hobbit. "Boromir! Finish it!" Well, when he put it that way...Boromir ducked his head again, doing his best to ignore the hobbit. Aragorn's shout a few moments later testified to Boromir's devotion.

With special regard to his king's cleanliness (after all, he *would* be putting his mouth there later), Boromir relaced Aragorn and stood. "Yes, Frodo? It seems your Strider is incapacitated at present, but I'm sure he'll be fine in a moment."

Frodo's mouth was moving, Boromir noted with interest, but no sounds were coming out. Finally, it seemed Frodo returned to being a civilized animal long enough to regain the power of speech. "You-you were..."

"Pleasuring my king?"

Frodo looked faint at that. Was there no sex in the Shire, Boromir wondered. "I need to talk to Strider." It was almost a question.

"Then by all means, speak to him."

"Do you have to be around?"

"Yes, he does," Aragorn answered and stood, just as Boromir was composing a response having to do with naive hobbits and normal positions for copulation. "I have no secrets from Boromir."

Frodo nodded, looking very unhappy. "It's about the...the 'trinket', Strider. Gandalf isn't here, so I can't ask him. Strider, is it *supposed* to be getting heavier as we go?"

Boromir could almost hear the thoughts going through his king's mind. "This is your chance, sire," he whispered so the hobbit could not hear him. "Will you take it?"

"Perhaps," Aragorn said, "perhaps if I could see it. Has there been any physical change?"

"I haven't seen any," Frodo replied, but took out the Ring anyway. It glowed bright suddenly in the night's air, and Aragorn took a step forward without realizing. Boromir matched him, making sure to be at his king's right hand should he be needed. "Maybe if you look, though."

"Is the heaviness in your mind, or in the Ring itself?" Aragorn seemed to walk faster than normal as he went to Frodo and reached down to touch the Ring. "So beautiful," he whispered in awe. Frodo, seeing the danger at last, drew his hand back quickly. "Frodo. Give it to me."

"No! You don't know what's come over you, Strider! You don't want this!"

Aragorn threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, no, little hobbit. I don't think I've ever wanted anything more than this. Save one thing..." He shook his head as if to clear it. "Boromir."

"Yes, my liege?"

"Do you recall the conversation we were having earlier?"

"Of course, my liege."

"Capture him." Aragorn ordered. Boromir moved to obey, unsheathing his sword and moving in front of his king to shield him from any sudden moves on behalf of the hobbit. Frodo's eyes widened as Boromir stepped closer to him, but it seemed the Ring held him in thrall. He could not run.

Boromir grasped Frodo's upper arm tightly and dragged the halfling to Aragorn. "Your prisoner, sire."

Aragorn smiled coldly and Boromir almost swooned. Perfect Aragorn. Kingly Aragorn. *Commanding* Aragorn. More than he had ever wanted. "Grasp his wrist hard." Boromir did so, and Aragorn pried open the hobbit's fingers one by one until the Ring fell innocuously into Aragorn's palm.

At this sight, Frodo remembered again how to speak. "No, Strider! Stop it! Boromir, let me go! You don't know what's come over you."

"Silence him."

Boromir nodded and cuffed the back of Frodo's neck. Frodo had time to whisper a meek "Why?" before slumping down to the ground, unconscious.

"You know, my love," Aragorn said calmly, Ring securely on his finger, "that was a good question. Why?"

"Why what, my liege?"

"Why did you want me to take it."

Boromir kicked the body of Frodo out of his way and moved closer to his king so they were eye to eye. "Because it's yours. Because it belongs to you. Because it suits you to have it. Because it takes a king to wield such power. Because this was the only way we could be together - forever."

Aragorn breath tickled lightly over Boromir's whiskers as he leaned in for a kiss. "Those are good reasons."

"I think so, too, my lord."


	3. Corruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn punishes Boromir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedication: For Luna, who wanted duress. I tried. And again to Luna for multiple corrections. Any and all remaining mistakes are products of my own stubbornness.

The king was in a foul mood and had been all day. It had started, Boromir thought, with the first report from the Northern border that the insurgents were acting up again, refusing to give allegiance to Barad-âr. The day had gotten progressively worse, from cold food for lunch (the cook had been tortured later; Boromir had seen to that) to the growing imbecility of the courtiers. It had climaxed when the fire in the Great Hall was kindled too late to adequately warm the chamber in time for dinner. Aragorn had stewed through the entire meal and then curtly ordered Boromir to his chambers, dismissing everyone else for the day.

Boromir followed Aragorn reluctantly through the Palace, past cold-faced guards and cowering pages, until they reached Aragorn's private quarters. A guard opened the door and the two stepped over the threshold. Aragorn began looking over everything, performing his nightly security check. Boromir waited nervously by the door. He knew what was coming and did not relish it.

But instead of the frontal assault which Boromir had expected, Aragorn merely walked into his bedchamber, throwing a glance at Boromir ordering him to follow. Aragorn shed his clothing and lay down on the bed, hands propping his head up, legs spread. He glanced at Boromir for a long moment, causing the Steward to shift from foot to foot. It wasn't that he did not enjoy sharing Aragorn's bed, though at times like this he wished he had not let Aragorn ring him. 'I will not allow you to fade,' Aragorn had promised with that fey look in his eye that only using the One Ring brought on. 'With this, you will never age. You will never die. You will never betray me.' Which Boromir would never have done anyway, no matter how harsh Aragorn could be in bed.

And harsh seemed to be the plan for tonight. Manacles appeared in Aragorn's hands and he attached them absently to the chains that already were secured to the wall behind the bed. Boromir wasn't sure, but he thought he saw the glint of sharpened steel lurking under Aragorn's pillow. He stiffened and tried to stare straight ahead, tried to ignore his King preparing for what promised to be a night of pain. He did not begrudge his use as the King's whore, but this was looking as if it was going to test his limits. And Boromir had had a bad day as well.

The leg chains were spread now, ready for him. Boromir hadn't seen them be moved. The black blindfold and matching gag lay next to Aragorn, within arm's distance. The little-used whip also lay near Aragorn. Pain, then. Lots of pain. Boromir winced in anticipation. From the looks of Aragorn's preparation, he wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow, possibly for the next week. Sword-play was out for the next month, if that whip had as much metal on its tip as it looked. More fodder for rumors. Boromir couldn't wait.

It seemed Aragorn was finished with the preparation. Boromir was relieved to see a bottle of grease on the sidetable. At least Aragorn wasn't anticipating being that rough tonight. He had once, Boromir remembered. Five nights before Aragorn's coronation, and Boromir had hesitated in killing Denethor. In punishment, Aragorn had not prepared himself as much as he could have. Boromir had had to see the healers after that. He did not relish a repeat of that.

"Come here," Aragorn demanded.

Boromir surveyed the assorted toys with growing fear. Whatever Aragorn was planning, it did not look pleasant. Well, damn it. He didn't have to put up with this. "No."

"You didn't seem to hear me correctly, Steward. That was an order, not a suggestion."

"And I said 'no'."

"If that's the way you want it...," Aragorn left the threat hanging in the air. "It's going to happen either way, my dear. Were you willing, this might have been easier for you, but since you seem to be resisting me tonight," Aragorn paused and his eyes began to glow as he called on the power of the Ring. "_Come. Here._"

Boromir's legs moved as if of their own volition, moving the Steward closer to the bed, and then on it in his customary kneeling position: hands and knees on the mattress, head resting between his splayed hands, backside in the air. Control returned gradually to Boromir but before he could begin shaking, Aragorn manacled his hands to the waiting chains.

"Now, Steward, am I going to have to continue ordering you around, or are you going to listen to me?"

"I don't want this."

A red handprint appeared on Boromir's bowed head. 'Strange,' he thought absently, head ringing. 'I didn't see his hand move.'

"Boromir, why do you try me like this? I know you love me; I can see your thoughts. I can see your desires. You want me."

"Not like this, my lord."

Another handprint. "What," Aragorn said with such chill in his voice that Boromir shivered despite Aragorn's waning control over him, "have I told you about using that title?"

"'Never in bed,'" Boromir recited and was rewarded by a pat on his head. Boromir growled. "Please don't be condescending, Aragorn."

"How can I not be when my servant refuses to willingly do what I say?" Aragorn moved down on the bed so that his erect cock was almost in line with Boromir's head. "Did you think to listen to me before, my dear, when you asked me of my dreams? Did you think to listen to what I was saying, or were you only focusing on getting out of that wilderness and back to civilization at my side?" He shook his head and moved Boromir's head to just above his crotch. "Suck me."

The chains rattled as Boromir uselessly tried to gain purchase on the bed and remove himself from Aragorn's hands. He dared not open his mouth, lest Aragorn take the opportunity. His feet slid over the silk bedsheets. Funny. He hadn't remembered dropping his boots. And then pressure on his finger. 'NO! Not the ring, Aragorn', he wanted to scream, but refused to give Aragorn the satisfaction. It always hurt when Aragorn commanded him through it. As it seemed he was doing now, with such insistence that it felt like his hand was catching fire. And then fingers over his nose and Boromir had to open his mouth to gasp, had only a moment before Aragorn slammed his cock into Boromir's open mouth.

"You bite, I make this even harder on you," Aragorn warned. Was that even possible, Boromir wondered. He was already being forced into something he would have gladly embraced had both of them been in better moods. And then Aragorn's hand was pushing his head down, making him take his King's cock deep, as deep as possible. Boromir thanked whichever Vala happened to be watching for all his practice doing this. At least something they did tonight wouldn't hurt more than usual. And this wasn't too bad, just like he was used to, except for the cuffs digging into his wrists and the fear of manacles being applied to his feet as well. Being chained out like a wanton feast was not something that the Steward of Gondor looked forward to. Not even in his Aragorn-induced dreams.

"Stop trying to tune me out, my love. You're only going to make me angry."

Damn. Boromir had forgotten that Aragorn could read his mind at will. Focus, then. On Aragorn's hands in his hair, stroking his unshaven cheek. On Aragorn's cock sliding against the back of his throat, on Boromir's tongue doing a little dance around it of its own accord. On Aragorn's legs, gently squeezing him between them. On Aragorn's chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes shut, as he enjoyed Boromir's mouth. On the sour feeling in the back of his throat as Aragorn's pre-cum was swallowed around his cock, as Boromir brought him closer and closer. In any other situation, Boromir would have enjoyed having this power over his king. Anything but this. Tears stung at his eyes as Aragorn thrusted into him hard, yanking the chains without realizing it. Almost falling as Aragorn came hard, breath panting, slurping air as Boromir fought to swallow every drop. Aragorn would be mad if he didn't. Madder than he was now.

"That was wonderful, my dear," Aragorn said as he withdrew his spent penis from Boromir's mouth. "Perhaps I should chain you more often."

Horror. "No. Please, no." His face was lifted by a surprisingly gentle hand and stroked. "Please, Aragorn. Don't make me. Just...let's just sleep tonight. I-I can relax you. Please, don't use those...things on me. They," Boromir felt the first tear drop and wished he had control of his hands so he could wipe it away. "They *hurt*."

"That's the point of them, my dear. And why would I not use them, after spending all that time preparing them? Time you spent day-dreaming. Time you spent thinking of something other than me. I don't like that, Boromir. I don't like that at all."

Boromir swallowed hard, the sour taste of Aragorn's come still on his tongue. "I'm sorry, Aragorn. I didn't mean to anger you." Please. Please don't do this.

"But you did anger me," and with that, Aragorn rose from the bed, hand pressed against Boromir's back to keep him from moving. "I like you like this, so ready for me. I'd keep you like this forever, but it does not suit my purposes tonight. Extend your legs, Boromir."

The whip had disappeared from Boromir's limited view and he shivered in anticipation. Aragorn had whipped him only twice before, and always it was over almost as soon as it had begun. This time, though, he didn't think Aragorn would be so merciful. "Make me."

"Not smart, my dear. _Do. It._"

And then Boromir was flat on his stomach, arms chained before him, legs chained behind him, spread and displaying him for all who cared to look. Somehow his clothes had been removed as well, and Boromir felt his fear grow. Never had Aragorn done this when Boromir wasn't aroused. Never had Aragorn done this in true anger. And then the whip licked against his lower back, and began tracing upwards.

"Now, you have a choice. I can hit your back. I can hit your ass. I can hit your legs. Either way, you won't be moving for a long time. Maybe I'll keep you like this forever; I like this view of you. So submissive, though I can feel you keeping your anger in check. Such a perfect sight, though I would have you willing."

"Then make me."

The whip slapped against his ass and Boromir screamed. "Don't tempt me, Boromir. I am already on the edge of doing so. And you will not speak. You will not make any noise whatsoever. Do you understand me?"

Panting from the pain and the tears which he refused to let fall, Boromir gathered the strength to form words. "Stop. Please, Aragorn, stop!" Another crack. Another scream of pain. "Oh, my god! Aragorn - please! Please, my love, stop! I don't want this!"

"I," Aragorn said and let the whip fall with all the strength of Gondor's dark king behind it, "don't care. Answer me. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, I understand you," the last word was punctured with another scream as the whip hit once again. Boromir wondered through the haze of pain how he must look. Was his ass swelling with welts or was Aragorn somehow keeping it down long enough to criss-cross it first and then watch his handiwork blossom? Somehow it seemed important.

"Good," the whip fell once more, but this time the pain was lighter. "And, Steward, if you don't, I'm going to gag you. And then I'm going to blindfold you, turn you over onto your soon-to-be-sore back, and whip your chest. And you won't be able to see where I'll strike next."

Boromir managed to keep his tongue, but he couldn't stop the voice in his mind from wailing about this, begging Aragorn not to do this, not to mark him like that. And he knew Aragorn heard. Heard and didn't care, which hurt more than the whip striking his back again, again, again. Boromir wondered how much of this he could take before passing out into the wonder of unconsciousness. He wondered how much he could take before Aragorn would let him do so.

Six. Seven. Eight. Losing count and starting again to stop himself from crying out. Three. Four. Five. Pause. And then a tongue, licking at the welts, licking at the wounds, at the blood that swelled in some places. Tasting. Probing. Knowing hands over his body, stroking, relaxing him, moving south. Boromir groaned. It was too soon. Aragorn couldn't be hard already, could he? Damn the Ring. And received a slap across a welt for his thought.

"You're going to enjoy this." Dark promises, always kept, Boromir knew. Didn't matter that he had already bitten his tongue bloody, didn't matter that all he could think of was the pain on his back, his ass, his thighs. Didn't matter, any of it. Because Aragorn promised that he was going to make him enjoy this, and so it would happen. Even if it was more a threat than a promise. Even if Boromir still didn't want this. Even if all Boromir wanted was to curl up and not hurt anymore, curl up with Aragorn and just sleep. He couldn't keep back a choked sob at that. Curl up with Aragorn and sleep.

"Hush, my love, we'll do that soon. But first I'm going to enter you. First I'm going to make you scream in pleasure. Then I'll make your pain go away. Shh, love, don't cry. I promise I won't be angry when I'm done. And isn't that a good thing, to be able to rid your King of anger? I could have killed a man and relaxed instead. Isn't this way better?"

'I would rather you killed a man,' Boromir could not let himself say. He didn't trust his voice, he didn't trust Aragorn's reaction to that.

"Shh, my love, don't cry. I hate it when you do that. You look so vulnerable like that, even though I know you're not. You're my strong one, the anchor that keeps me tied to this middle-earth. You're my tower in this ocean of troubles. I love you, my Boromir, and I'm never letting you go. I'll fight Mandos himself for you, even if right now I know you don't want me to. Even if right now you only want me to stop. Because you gave yourself to me, and you're mine. Mine, my love, and I'm never giving you up."

Words that at any other time would never have failed to calm him made him only more anxious. Was Aragorn serious? What did Aragorn truly mean when he said love? "I'm your whore, Aragorn, and you use me as such."

"And you usually enjoy it."

"Not tonight."

Aragorn seemed to hear everything Boromir dared not even think. "Hush, my love. Soon you will. And then I will let you sleep, let you wrap yourself around me. I'll take away your pain and tend to your beautiful wounds." Butterfly kisses between his wounds, down his back, cleaning off the drying blood. Gentle hands massaging his ass, spreading it gently. Hot breath blowing on the welts, mixing with the pain.

"Do you...do you have to do this, Aragorn?"

"Yes." And then slicked fingers working their way inside him, and when oh when had Aragorn had the time to have done that and probing and pushing and touching and oh! Boromir arched off the bed into Aragorn's hand. "Better?"

"Damn you!"

"I'll take that as a yes." Aragorn's other hand had taken advantage of Boromir's position to sneak under him and began to stroke his cock into excitement. "Now close your eyes and forget about everything but my cock, and my hands, and my voice in your head."

Sounded easy enough, and the fingers probing inside him promised good things if he complied. Protests forgotten, Boromir allowed himself to be lulled into tranquility. Maybe this wouldn't be so horrible as he had thought.

"Now, I want you to relax, my love. This is going to hurt if you don't, and I think I've hurt you enough for one night. You have twenty marks in all and I think that's quite enough. You've held up bravely, my dear. Time for your reward." Third finger. Fourth finger. A relaxing presence in his mind. And then Aragorn was inside him fully for the second time that night. Filled him, and filling him, in and out so slightly that Boromir didn't notice it at first. And then Aragorn quickened his pace, sliding and slipping, and always, always, touching that wonderful spot. Minutes like this, pure bliss, who cared about the low ache in his back, just Aragorn in him like he should be. "Come for me," and Boromir couldn't refuse, spilling his seed onto Aragorn's waiting hand, feeling Aragorn climax inside him.

And then Aragorn was unlocking the restraints, rubbing at the growing bruises. Washing the wounds, applying medicines Boromir hadn't known Aragorn kept in his quarters, all the while stroking his back, assuring him everything would be fine. Keeping him in that pleasant Aragorn-inducing haze.

"I didn't want to," he insisted thickly, knowing that Aragorn heard him no matter how low his whisper was from his sore throat, or how much his lungs ached to speak after so much screaming.

There was no pause in the ministrations as Aragorn replied. "I know, my love. But I like to see you defy me, weak though it was. You're not some mindless savant like some of those who try to serve me. I like to see you struggle, all the while knowing you're going to lose. I like to see you give in. I like to see you fall apart because of me." A kiss on his head as skillful hands finished binding his wounds. "Now sleep. No one will disturb you for days."

Boromir held out for a kiss on his lips, first of the night, before allowing the suggestion to take hold. He slipped into unconsciousness with his king's name on his lips.


	4. Treachery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eomer rebels. He and Faramir are killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedication: For Luna, who was there at the beginning and all the way until the end. Thanks for the beta that helped me tie five months worth of writing into one smooth story. Any remaining errors are products of my sheer stubbornness.
> 
> The author begs you not to point out the glaring canonical error here, as it was made purposely and for artistic reasons.

Boromir visited the dungeons once a week as part of his duties. It was his job to see to the security of the prison as well as to the safety of the guardsmen. He also made it a habit to visit the more prominent of the captives. But the one person he dreaded visiting the most was the one honor condemned him to see, week after week. And he knew Faramir looked forward to these visits.

"Why can't you just die?" Boromir whispered under his breath as he entered his brother's cell. Faramir was in his usual position on the stone platform, leaning against the wall, face implacable, eyes cold as he followed his brother's movements through the room. Boromir completed his cursory inspection of the walls, floor, and ceiling of the cell and then took a seat in the cell's sole chair. "Hello, brother. How was your week?"

"Pleasant. Gruel on Monday, gruel on Tuesday, looks to be gruel today, too. And yourself?"

"Pleasant as well."

"Though I suppose they don't serve *you* gruel." Faramir's voice was almost bitter. Boromir had hoped that emotion would have been exhausted by Faramir's long incarceration. Faramir always did enjoy disappointing his older brother.

"That is true. They do not."

"Why?"

The question caught Boromir off guard. "I don't understand. Why don't they serve me gruel? Faramir, that's a little childish-"

"No," Faramir waved the objection away. "Why did you do this to me?"

"I did nothing. You brought this on yourself by refusing to serve the King."

"I will be no slave."

Boromir could hear the implication as clear as if Faramir had said the words. "And I am?"

"You wear a slave ring, my brother. Do not tell me you are not slave to his will."

"I serve my king out of love. In his kindness, he has given me this to wear so that he will never lose me."

"Can't you hear yourself? Boromir, what has happened to you? You go away as a man I knew and come back bearing a usurper. How could you believe his lies? How could you let yourself be led astray?"

Only self-control learned at the edge of Aragorn's whip kept Boromir's temper in check. Led astray? He had been the one to convince Aragorn to take the One! "I think it was you who was much changed, Faramir, for the only difference between the man who left and the man who came back was devotion for his king."

"Love, you mean. You love your king, so you are blind to his faults."

"Name four."

"He is quick to anger. He kills those who disagree with him, or he incarcerates them, which is the same thing. He is a harsh man with no semblance of mercy. And he abuses you."

Boromir's smile was frozen in place. "Try again."

But Faramir would not be deterred. "I know he does, brother. I've seen the bruises on your wrists when your sleeve rides up. I've heard the guards talking about the one week when you were not seen at all around the Citadel-"

"Palace," Boromir corrected.

"Names!" Faramir scoffed. "They can change so quickly. Titles! Oh, dear brother, don't you see what your king has done to you? He abuses you so often you don't even notice anymore!"

"Watch your tongue."

"Or you'll do what, Boromir? Kill me?" Faramir sneered, then thought a moment. "Do you enjoy it?"

"What?"

"Killing."

Boromir shrugged and studied Faramir's face for any evidence of a scheme in progress. "I do what I must. That is loyalty."

"No, that is gullibility. Can he not do his own killing?"

"I would not trouble my liege with such a petty thing."

"'Petty?'" Faramir repeated incredulously. "Ending a man's life is petty?"

"When a man's life has degenerated to the point that it no longer bears any import to the continuance of the kingdom, then his life has entered the realm of pettiness. It is a mercy to kill him."

"Father never taught you that. Even he would not be so presumptuous as to believe that the entirety of a man's being and continuance in the world depends solely on his contributions to the realm."

"Father was not my only teacher, Faramir. There are things to learn from every creature and lifeform that inhabits this Middle-earth."

"You need not take such a rebuking tone with me, brother." Faramir sighed and rubbed grime-stained hands against his eyes. "Are you listening to a word I'm saying? Boromir, you're my older brother and I worry for you. You're letting your king take advantage of you and take your loyalty for granted." Faramir paused. "He beats you, doesn't he? When he's had a long day? He ties you up like a prisoner and gives you a traitor's punishment. I can see it in your eyes."

"Silence!" Boromir was out of his seat and had his hands wrapped around his brother's throat before he realized it. Faramir held himself perfectly still and didn't resist Boromir's murderous intentions. Boromir took a step back and tried to calm himself. He mustn't let Faramir get the best of him. Faramir was trying to chip away at Boromir's line of reason and force him into rash acts. Faramir was trying to force his brother to kill him. Aragorn had examined Faramir from afar and declared that Faramir believed that Boromir would be 'reformed' should his brother die by his own hands by virtue of the guilt that was sure to come. Boromir was in no hurry to test that theory. "Know this, Faramir. Aragorn does nothing to me that I don't want him to do. And you will stop disrespecting him. You will stop taunting him. Dishonor me all you want, for I am naught but the king's steward, but you will never dishonor the king in my hearing. I won't stand for it."

"Very well." Faramir brought his hands up to massage the growing bruises Boromir's strength had given him. Boromir frowned. He hadn't let his anger rule over him long enough to truly hurt his brother. He would have to speak with Aragorn about this. Boromir would not allow himself to kill someone without realizing that he was exerting enough pressure to do so. "I will give token respect to your slaver," Faramir paused. "The same I give to my jailer."

"Watch your tongue," Boromir repeated, but felt the conversation begin to slip away from his control.

"Boromir, tell me this. How many people have you killed on his command?"

"Countless."

"Can you name them?"

The names of everyone he had killed... "Frodo Baggins. Samwise Gamgee. Gimli, Gloin's son. Meriadoc Brandybuck. Peregrin Took." He recited the names of onetime comrades as if they were faceless strangers, allowing no emotion to be betrayed. He hadn't *liked* killing them, but he hadn't disliked it either. It had been Aragorn's will and Boromir's as well. He had truly felt nothing at their deaths. "Lego-, no, Legolas Aragorn killed himself. Not counting orcs and others of a less than desirable nature?"

"Of course. I don't expect you to take names as you slaughter some army."

"Kind of you. Then there were several stray Rohirrim. Hama, the doorguard, who wanted Aragorn to disarm. Erkenbrand I killed, after Aragorn killed Theoden King."

"Theodred?"

"I kill him, after. He would not bow to Aragorn. Grima, a servant of Saruman. Several Rohan courtiers."

"Which brings you to your entry into Gondor, having already killed a score of people at the command of that madman."

"Are not all visionaries considered mad?"

Faramir sighed. "I will concede the point, for now. And then you entered into Gondor, killing dissidents as you went, until you came to Minas Tirith, threw down the gate, proclaimed your lord King of all, and then killed Father. All the while believing that your King was righteous?!"

Boromir willed himself to be patient. This was nothing he hadn't heard already. But Faramir was being unusually dense and it was aggravating. His brother was not so stupid as this. "There is no such thing as a bloodless revolution. Aragorn was the heir to the Throne of Gondor. It was his by blood. The ones I killed would not concede. They were traitors and deserved a traitor's death." It was so obvious. Why couldn't Faramir see?

"Then why am I still alive?"

"Because I begged Aragorn for your life!" Boromir cried in frustration. How could his brother draw a parallel between courtiers and a son of the Steward? He had wanted to give Faramir a chance. Instead he was getting idiocy. "Does that please you, Faramir? Does it add to your misguided theory that I can be 'saved'? Or do you not see it for what it was - a man who had killed his father and did not want to have to do the same to his brother?"

Faramir was silent for a long moment and when he did reply, his voice was low. "I had not known."

"Ah, yes, Faramir, this is not the worst it could be. You could be dead. And I would have killed you myself then had I then known what you would be spewing at me now!"

"If I swear allegiance to your king, will you let me die?"

That threw Boromir off for a moment and then he laughed. "No, Faramir, you aren't getting out of this that easily. I will settle for nothing less than your soul." That had been Aragorn's demand when Boromir had appealed for his brother's life four years before. "I will not let you die until you belong to Aragorn as I do, completely and without reservation. Faramir, you don't seem to understand. We're sons of the Steward," Boromir put all the emphasis he could into those words. It had used to mean something to his brother. Perhaps it still did. "It is our responsibility to lead the people on the right path. I will have no lip-servers swearing fealty. If you truly wish to die, run against the wall," Boromir smiled coldly. Suicide was without honor and Faramir, even deluded as he was, would never stoop to such a thing. "There's nothing stopping you. But you will not leave this cell as a free man until you are Aragorn's." Boromir's ring tightened imperceptibly and the Steward stood from the stiff and broken chair. "Now, if you will excuse me, my dear brother, I am called to the king."

"He calls and you run?"

Boromir turned back from the door. "Of course," he replied and exited. He could hear Faramir's sigh of frustration echo behind him and almost smiled. Faramir would never find an argument so good as to convince his brother away from his king, but Boromir knew he would never stop trying.

'Private reception area, my love,' Boromir heard, as clearly as if Aragorn was in the same room as him, and exited the dungeons with as much grace as he could summon. Dueling with Faramir always took a lot out of him. His brother had a way of sucking his vitality out of him and make him long for the comfort of Aragorn's arms. Aragorn never judged him for his choice. Aragorn loved him despite all his faults as steward and friend.

The private reception hall was as empty as it usually was. Even the guards dared not come in here without the king's express command. Aragorn stood where he always did, before a small table of open books, bending slightly as to read the faded words better. At Boromir's entry he straightened and approached him.

"Here at your word," Boromir murmured as Aragorn's arms encircled him from behind and a chin moved to rest on his shoulder, kissing his neck.

"You smell like death, my love."

"I have just come from the dungeons, Aragorn."

"Ah." More kisses on his neck, moving into his hair. "So how is dear Faramir?"

"Frustrated. He can't get me to betray you and doesn't understand why."

"Yes, I heard." Aragorn chuckled at Boromir's instinctive stiffening. "Don't be alarmed. I was just peeking in to see if you were truly busy."

"I am never busy, save when I'm with you."

"Eomer is coming."

Boromir turned in his king's arms so they could be face to face. "Oh?"

"He sent a messenger yesterday. I have spotted his horse from the watchtower. He'll be here within half an hour. I've already ordered the gate to let him in and send him straight here."

"What do you think he wants?"

Aragorn leaned down and kissed Boromir's nose. "No idea. Damn it, you look edible. Boromir, tonight I'm going to eat you. No protests."

"None," Boromir promised. "As long as I can eat you as well."

"Simultaneous cannibalism? Sounds good to me."

"So tell me about Eomer's message."

"A mere announcement that he was coming, with the requisite number of guards for a man of his station. They're riding hard."

"It's a two week journey from Edoras. Ten days if you ride your horse to death. Eomer would not undertake such a journey unless he had something to say."

"Declaration of war, perhaps?"

"No. He would send an emissary for that. He would not leave himself where we could easily kill him. Besides, there is nothing but rumors that Rohan is arming. Though that might be something to interrogate Eomer about. You told him only enough eoreds to keep the orcs out. Yet he has replaced both Erkenbrand and Theodred, and added another marshal. That's fact, Aragorn, not rumor."

"Just don't let fear of Rohan keep you up at night."

"*You* keep me up at night."

"You're complaining?"

"Never, my love. But I am much concerned. Eomer set forth from Edoras to make a journey that lasts over a month, and his messenger says nothing?"

"Don't worry, Steward. You forget, Eomer has sworn himself to me-"

"And you trust his oath!?"

"No," Aragorn answered mildly, "but I do own his heart, and his mind. There is nothing he can hide from me once he's in my presence."

"Ah. And does he know this?"

Aragorn's smile was unabashed. "Must have slipped my mind."

"I love you." Boromir grinned. "And I will let nothing, nothing, ever come between us."

"Still thinking of your brother?"

"Aye. He and Eomer were always friends. Age-mates, then play-mates. I think they broke each other in, but stuffy older brothers are not privy to such information. I worry sometimes."

"For what?"

"You."

"Then have no fears, my love. I cannot die," Aragorn's hands played along Boromir's back with more than a little reassurance. "And no matter what arguments your brother comes up with, you will not betray me. Eomer poses no threat to me, nor to you. There is no way he can be plotting with Faramir. There is no way they could be teaming up to do either of us harm. And I will kill your brother, your protests be damned, before I let him try to hurt you. You are precious to me, beloved, and I will allow nothing to happen to you." Aragorn tightened his embrace, moving Boromir even closer to him. "Because you're mine and I'm keeping you."

"Good." A trumpet blew somewhere in the distance and Boromir groaned. "I thought you said we had half an hour."

"It appears I underestimated Eomer's willingness to kill his horse. Come. You need to change into court attire. We have fifteen minutes until Eomer can possibly get here from the gate and you need to be placed in close contact with some water." Aragorn's pupils dilated slowly and then he shook his head to clear it. "I've given the order. Come, my dear."

Boromir grimaced but let himself be lead by the backstairs to his little-used quarters where his formal attire was kept. Aragorn busied himself with the armoire and pulled out several garments. Boromir took them with some distaste.

"Strip."

Boromir raised an eyebrow. Aragorn did not even blink.

"You may make a show of it if you wish, but that will take away time. There's water in your tub, and I've picked out what you're to wear. We're expected downstairs in ten minutes. Strip."

Boromir obeyed. He hated formal wear, probably more than he hated orcs. And of all the uncomfortable, confining clothing... "Blue?"

"Looks beautiful on you."

With a look at Aragorn's heated gaze, Boromir resigned himself to not winning this one. "Don't suppose I could convince you to bathe me?"

"Hardly. Now stop stalling." Aragorn made a dismissive gesture with one hand and Boromir disappeared into the bath area. Five minutes later he returned, hair dripping and a towel around his waist.

"That," he said, taking the tower off and using it to dry the rest of his body, "was not fun."

"It wasn't meant to be." Aragorn took the towel from Boromir and handed him an undertunic instead. "Now dress." Boromir complied, trying not to look at the colors. Black and silver were better suited to a son of Minas Tirith, and even Aragorn had not dared change her colors along with her name. Some things were forever.

Five minutes later, Boromir took his customary place to the right of the throne as the great doors opened to admit the King of Rohan. Boromir studied Eomer critically. He walked like a man who knew he was going to please his lord and would be rewarded grandly for it, yet he was dressed as a common Rider save for the signet of office on his finger. Boromir frowned. Something was wrong. Eomer had never flaunted his position, but he had never been ashamed of it either.

Ten paces from the dais, Eomer paused and knelt. "Greetings, Aragorn son of Arathorn, High King over all the lands of men. I bring you the obedience of the land of Rohan and all her people."

Boromir could feel Aragorn's intense gaze study Eomer for a long moment. Eomer shifted on the floor and Boromir watched with interest as Eomer's pulse quickened with his growing fear. "Rise, Eomer King," Aragorn pronounced finally. "How fares the Mark?"

Eomer stood and looked more than a little relieved. "Well, my liege. We have prospered under your generosity. All Rohan sings the praises of the King of Gondor."

"Indeed," Aragorn said shortly. He hated flattery. "And what of the rumors of insurrection in your villages?"

"Rumors, my liege, and nothing more. Rohan's obedience with forever with Gondor."

"We have found Rohan's obedience wanting of late, Eomer King."

"No more," Eomer promised. "I have been lax in my duties, for my wife was ill with pregnancy. A month ago her pregnancy was completed and so I have striven to appear before you."

"To what end?"

"To swear to you the life of my newborn son, for ever shall he serve you as I have."

"That is a great boon to give upon your son's birth, Eomer of Rohan." And it meant that something was wrong. The Eomer Boromir had known would never do such a thing. He would delay, resisting the inevitable task of allowing an enemy power over his son, infant or otherwise, for as long as possible.

"Yet I would swear it. Let it never be said again the Rohan's obedience is wanting." Boromir was reminded sharply of his own fealty oath in the darkened woods as Eomer knelt again. Eomer's own oath of allegiance had been short and filled with hate at what necessity had wrought. Eomer had never wanted to be king, especially not while Thoedred's body cooled next to him, blood still slowly seeping out. But this was more like Boromir's own, filled with emotion and desire. But Eomer's motives were still a mystery. "I swear now the life of Elfwine son of Eomer into the service of Barad-âr, to be a servant to her call and a slave always unto the will of her King. And now," Eomer continued, "with the permission of my Lord King, I would appoint Elfwine, my son, and ever your servant, as my heir."

Interesting, Boromir thought. Elfwine. A strange name, that was. He was not knowledgeable enough in Rohirric to know its meaning, but the connotations in Westron were disturbing. No elves overtly remained in Middle-Earth. Gentle Folk had been banished from the lands of men and had been 'encouraged' by soldiers and the Nine to make for the Grey Havens. Most had complied. The ones that hadn't had the sense to lie low. Dwarves stayed in the mountains, sending only a tribute, and hobbits were never seen outside the Shire. Only Boromir, he knew, was in the position where he could hurt the King. But he would never do such a thing, not even by accident. Aragorn had no need to fear betrayal from him.

"Far be it from Gondor to interfere with the internal goings-on of Rohan. I thank you for the life of your son. There is no gift more generous, no boon more worthy. Appoint your son your heir as you will, Eomer. And allow me to extend my congratulations on the birth of your son. Children are an unending source of pride for their parents, and I am certain that Elfwine will bring you nothing but joy."

"Thank you, my liege."

"But come, Eomer. Surely you did not ride these two weeks just for a birth announcement?"

"In truth, I did, my lord. Let it never be said that Rohan is not loyal to Barad-âr."

He was trying too hard, Boromir realized. The Eomer he had known of old was never so servile, never so submissive, so eager to please. That was what had made the deception so obvious. The Eomer he had known was proud, bowed only to Theoden, and tolerated no criticism. Yet he had just performed the ultimate sacrifice: placing the life of his son in the hands of a man who certainly did not even *like* the child's father. Eomer was plotting something. And he was definitely hiding something. Boromir itched to know what it was and felt a slow anger begin to burn. If Eomer had resolved to betray his overlord, then Boromir's wrath would know no bounds. First his brother, then Eomer. Would personal betrayals never end? Boromir shut his eyes and resisted the urge to look up at Aragorn on his opulent throne. Only Aragorn cared for him. Only Aragorn would never harm him. His king would do whatever was necessary to shield his steward from the unsavory parts of his rule, allowing no argument when Boromir asked to help. Aragorn protected him. Aragorn loved him. Boromir could trust no one else with his heart, his love, or his faith.

"Your loyalty knows no bounds, Eomer of Rohan, and we thank you for arriving promptly," Boromir knew that he was not the only one who could hear the edge in Aragorn's voice, "however, since you are here, there are several things that need to be cleared up."

"I am at your service, my lord."

"When last we spoke, you told me that you were complying with my wishes and that Rohan was decreasing the number of eoreds. Yet now I hear that you have appointed a fourth Marshal for your borders and your Riders are ever on their guard."

"There have been many orc attacks of late, my lord, on all our borders. I created a Marshal for our Western border so that Rohan's forces could be better utilized. The number of Riders has not increased; I have merely reorganized."

"Yet the number has not decreased."

"Surely my lord doesn't expect me to reduce the number of soldiers I have at my command at a time of need?"

"If you were so hardpressed that you had to violate my express command, why did you not send to Gondor for reinforcements?" Eomer stiffened but did not answer. Aragorn studied him for a long moment. "Your pride has ever been your enemy, Eomer of Rohan. You cannot delay this any longer. When you return to Edoras, I expect my command to be obeyed. With you I will send a company of my troops, so you will not feel deprived."

Boromir smiled, grateful for his position as King's councilor so that no attention was focused on him. Eomer had trotted into a corner and hadn't realized it. Eomer always had underestimated Aragorn. He thought the High King a brute, always more willing to use the sword than the tongue, always eager to kill rather than understand. Eomer was a fool.

"That-that will not be necessary, my lord. Rohan can defend herself."

"I insist. After all, we are both men. We have to look out for each other."

Eomer's voice caught in his throat as he answered. "As my lord says." Boromir could almost see him planning how to evade the escort and had the unsettling feeling that Aragorn could actually see the plans being made. "But, my lord, I would not wish Rohan to take needed soldiers from Gondor's borders-"

"Eomer, enough. You came to me with a complaint - that your borders were being overrun. Why do you chafe at my answer? Was it not the solution you wished for?"

"I-my lord, well..."

"Rohan is too proud to accept help," Aragorn said as if in understanding. "But Rohan needs to learn, and her king would do well to take heed. Gondor rules over Rohan, and _I_ am Gondor."

"Yes, my lord."

Boromir wondered at the meekness of Eomer's tone. Why was Eomer doing this? What plot was he trying to fulfill? There had to be a very good reason for Eomer to degrade himself like he was, and Boromir knew that whatever Eomer was planning, it would not bode well for Rohan's king. Aragorn had been betrayed too many times not to notice the signs. And Eomer was clearly showing them, and in large quantities. It was almost too obvious. But, of course, it wasn't. Eomer merely had no experience in betrayal. He didn't realize that he had placed himself up against a man who could read his mind and one who would do anything, anything, to protect his king.

"Have you need of any more counsel, Eomer King?"

"None, my lord."

"Oh, come, Eomer. Do not be sore. It's unbecoming of a man of your station. How fares your sister?"

"As well as can be expected, my lord. Her beloved is incarcerated and all my words will not make her pain desert her."

'Beloved?' Aragorn asked silently. 'Faramir,' Boromir replied. 'They plighted their troth six years ago. Father would not allow the wedding until the immediate war was over, or until I wed, whichever came first.'

"Women are tenderhearted creatures," Aragorn said. "Perhaps she shall find another to love. For I shall not allow her beloved from the dungeons until he has sworn himself to me of his own volition."

"Yes, my lord, and knowing the Lord Faramir, that will not be soon. He is prouder than even I."

There was something about that sentence...Eomer should have been bitter, not triumphant. Boromir frowned. So this was about Faramir. Was Eomer here to bargain for his life? Even Eomer could not be so foolish.

"And how fares your lady wife, cousin to our Steward?"

Eomer glanced at Boromir before replying, and his face betrayed him for a moment. There was anger there, and a hint of betrayal. Eomer obviously held Boromir's allegiances against him. "As well as I do, my lord. She is slightly weak from childbirth, but that is nothing that will not fade with time and care."

"Well." Aragorn replied, and it was clear that the audience was over. "The hospitality of my house is open to you for as long as you wish to stay. Mablung will conduct you to quarters."

"Thank you, my lord," Eomer stood and bowed, eyes never leaving Boromir's, leaving the Steward with a growing sense of unease. Aragorn stood as well and watched Eomer exit the throne room.

"Boromir, attend me."

"Of course, my liege," Boromir followed Aragorn for the short distance between the throne and the entrance to Aragorn's private study. Once in there, he sighed against the closed door and watched Aragorn pace.

Finally Aragorn looked back at him. "Tell me of Eomer as a child."

"He was wild, Aragorn, that is the only word for it," Boromir wrung his hands and finally allowed himself to lower his defense and allow his distress to show in his eyes. "He would listen to no one but Theoden or Theodred, and sometimes not even them. He was like a colt, Aragorn." And a very wild one, at that. Eomer had often needed a sound beating, but, as the king's nephew, never received one. He had been spoiled as a child, expecting the world to be simple and allegiances sacred. He had been wholly unprepared for a man like Aragorn. "I cannot reconcile that vision with what I saw today. My love, Eomer has *never* been like that. Unless you were doing something to him, by all rights he should have been outraged when you corrected him, not plaintive." And that was the crux of the matter. What sort of betrayal would change the nature of a person? "I-I don't understand it, Aragorn. It seemed like it was a poor mimic playing Eomer, not the man himself. Eomer would not know gratitude if it killed his horse from under him, yet...yet he was the epitome of courtly gratitude today. You gave him the throne, and he seemed to be consciously aware of that. It's uncharacteristic. It's unsettling. It worries me, Aragorn," Boromir admitted, hating himself for such weakness. Aragorn had told him not to worry, but he couldn't even obey such a simple command. "I know not what to make of the man who swore his son to you. Eomer would never do such a thing. He would never leave the life of his son, nay, any of his kin or men, in the hands of someone he did not trust."

"He is betraying me, Boromir."

Boromir nodded, somewhat comforted by the frank statement. He hated doubletalk and having to read meanings into seemingly innocent words. "I had thought as much. Shall I kill him?"

"No, not yet. I have something better in mind. Boromir, we're going to invite the proud king of Rohan into our bed."

"We are?!"

Aragorn was in front of him in a blink, hands on Boromir's forearms, soothing him. "Yes, dear Boromir, we are. And once he has been hurt enough, then will I finally let him meet his end."

"Aragorn-"

"Hush, my love. He will do nothing to harm you, though I will let you punish him if you so desire."

"He has betrayed you," Boromir answered simply, ignoring Aragorn's declaration for the moment. "Of course I wish to revenge. I want his pain to be heard even in Hornberg. I want it to be a lesson to all who would hurt you. And then I want his name forgotten, banished from all living memory, all records of the kings of the Riddermark."

"I love you when you're bloodthirsty," Aragorn whispered and leaned in for a kiss. "Then it shall be done that way, my love. May it never be said that the king does not listen to his steward. But tell me, Boromir. What would you have me do with the child?"

"Hostage," Boromir whispered and kissed Aragorn's cleft, working his way up to his king's lips. By the Valar, he wanted a kiss. "Keep him here. Rename him, of course. Eothain would probably be fitting, it means horse-lord."

"And what to do with Rohan?" Aragorn asked, evading Boromir's lips long enough to slip his hands around Boromir's waist and pull his hips close against his own. Aragorn's fingers brushed over Boromir's sword and then his daggers, tracing the words etched into the pommels. Only Boromir was allowed armed before the king and Aragorn liked to emphasize that privilege when Boromir was feeling apprehensive.

"Mmm, find a regent. Someone loyal. I don't know."

"But who could I trust?"

"No one." Boromir shrugged and did his best to fuse his body permanently to Aragorn's. "Annex it, then."

"I would still need a governor," Aragorn reminded him, and with regret, disentangled himself from his steward. "Come. There is work that needs to be done."

Boromir pouted.

"Oh," Aragorn added, as if in afterthought, "and have I told you how wonderful you look like that? Perhaps I should have you wear blue more often."

Boromir raised an eyebrow. "Don't even think about it, my liege. The color of blood suits me better. Besides, it doesn't stain if you have me working down in the dungeons again."

"Touche." Aragorn grinned and then paused. "Halbarad," he said, as if amazed he hadn't thought of it before.

"Your pardon, my liege?"

"My kinsman Halbarad. I have him now overseeing the rebuilding of Osgiliath. He would do anything for me."

Boromir nodded, two steps ahead of what Aragorn was saying. A useful skill, considered that since Aragorn could read minds he assumed that everyone else could. "Would he die for you?"

"Better than that. He would live for me. He would devote all waking moments to my service."

"And I do not do that?"

"Of course you do, but I'm not letting you that far from me. I don't want to have to go days without you, let alone weeks or months."

Boromir smiled. "And I love you, too. How fast can your kinsman get here?"

"He's on his way now."

Boromir never ceased to be amazed at Aragorn's power. "I didn't know you could do that."

"Halbarad is my closest kin," Aragorn said, clearly amused. "We were almost telepathic beforehand. I merely asked him if he wished to have a chance of being a ruler himself. He asked how quickly he had to be here before the offer was rescinded and then added that he was on his way. He should be here with the dawn. Halbarad can refuse me nothing and he has always harbored a great love of horses. Rohan should be no trial for him. And as for subjugating her people, Halbarad is even harsher than I am. He once stared down an army of Orcs. Rebels won't phase him."

"He sounds ruthless. Why haven't I met him before?"

"You have," Aragorn said, eyes twinkling with merriment." He was the one at my coronation who you tried to kill."

"The one that embraced you," Boromir said darkly, remembering. "In front of me."

"Yes, well, he didn't know you were the jealous type. And he had been waiting so long for me to take the crown. To his credit, though, he did not touch me around you after that."

"I had both a sword at his throat and a knife at his groin. I should hope he learned his lesson."

"Oh, he did."

"Good."

 

Aragorn had indeed attempted to eat him and Boromir had put up quite a struggle. Boromir doubted that the bite marks would fade in less than weeks. He sighed in contentment and kissed the perfect indention of his teeth around Aragorn's left nipple, suckling gently. "You make cute noises in your sleep, Aragorn," he whispered and began to kiss his way down his lover's chest. Aragorn muttered something that might have been his steward's name but did not awaken. Boromir continued his ministrations, being careful not to wake Aragorn. He had been so tired lately and the demands on the kingdom were weighing heavily upon her king. Even the Ring could not forestall sleep for this long.

Boromir planted a soft kiss above Aragorn's heart and nuzzled the soft hairs there. He usually enjoyed the fact that Aragorn was a side-sleeper, though it often meant that Boromir ran a real danger of having his king roll on top of him while he was trying to savor Aragorn's flesh. Not that there weren't worse places for Aragorn to be, but still. Aragorn needed his rest.

Boromir paused and frowned. A name, unbidden, had risen in his mind. It was been a name he had heard a guard mention as a name of one of Eomer's guards, but he had thought nothing of it at the time. Now he cursed himself for his stupidity and oversight.

Dernhelm.

Boromir was out of the bed before he realized it and picked up the first pair of leggings he found. They were thankfully his but his fingers refused to listen to his brain. All it could think was 'hurry'. He finally got the laces tied and was pulling on a tunic and jerkin when Aragorn moved on the bed.

"Where you are going?"

"To check on something, my love. I'll be only a moment. Go back to bed."

Instead of obeying (not that Boromir had expected him to), Aragorn rolled over and got out of bed. He repeated Boromir's ritual from before, finding clothing and putting it on, and Boromir could almost feel Aragorn banish all fatigue from his body.

"What's going on, Boromir?"

"One of Eomer's guards answers to 'Dernhelm'," Boromir answered, eyes searching for more proper attire.

"What of it, my love?"

"There has never been a Rider by the name of Dernhelm. It is rather the name shieldmaidens use when they wish to appear as Riders."

"My love, you're going to have to be clearer."

Boromir seemed not to hear him. "But why would Eowyn chance discovery? Why would she come where she knows she is not welcome?" His eyes suddenly glowed and a sneer came over his face. "She's here for Faramir. She will not get him."

"Calm down, Boromir. Tell me what you see," Aragorn demanded, a hint of command in his voice. No matter how far gone Boromir was, he would always respond to a direct order from his king.

"Eowyn is here, my lord," Boromir answered, voice devoid of emotion. "Was here, actually. Something startled her and she has made for the Gate and for a prearranged rendezvous point with her brother and...my brother. There may still be time to stop her." Without waiting for Aragorn's reply, Boromir opened the door which connected Aragorn's bedroom from the guard's station. "Beregond," he acknowledged the head guard on duty. "Where are the Rohirrim quartered?"

Beregond seemed startled by the question. "In F Barracks, my lord. It was the only one with a stable."

F Barracks. Boromir felt his dread grow. There was no time to reach F Barracks. "And Eomer King?"

"He is in his quarters, my lord."

"I know that, you fool. *Where* are his quarters?" Boromir asked, silencing the tittering guards with a look.

Beregond flushed. "Well, my lord..."

He's stalling, Boromir realized with a start. First F Barracks, the furthest barrack house from the Palace, and now he was certain that Beregond would pick the furthest quarters in which to place Eomer.

'Boromir. Kill him,' Aragorn's voice ordered. Boromir nodded and turned to the closest guard. "Ingold, give me your sword." The guard unsheathed his sword and handed it to his captain without a word. Boromir tested the sword's balance and point and then lowered it. Without pausing, he approached Beregond, brought the sword to bear, and stabbed the guard. He pulled the sword out and watched dispassionately as Beregond slumped to the floor, blood already seeping out of his dying body. Another stroke and Beregond's head was off. Boromir knelt and wiped Ingold's sword off on Beregond's uniform and then straightened.

"Dispose of the body," he ordered the room, and the guards immediately set to the task of removing the corpse and assigning who was to do what job. With all the confusion, Boromir did not see the running guard until they were almost face to face. He held out a hand to steady the exhausted man.

"Message," the guard panted, face red, "for the king."

"The King is listening," Aragorn said, coming up from behind Boromir.

"Message from the watch at F Barracks. We cannot account for all the Rohirrim, my liege. Mablung is searching for them now and sent me with the missive. He begs you to allow him to sound the alert."

"He has my permission. Take two guardsmen with you and find Eomer King's quarters. If he is not there, you are to find him and bring him to me to be dealt with, personally. If you cannot find him, prepare the death chamber. Boromir."

"Yes, my liege?"

"I need you to search the Palace. Find Eomer, or as close to him as possible."

Boromir blanched. "My liege..."

"I know you can do it. All that is necessary is for you to believe it. Use the ring I gave you. Find your old friend. If he'll respond to anyone, he'll respond to you."

Boromir bowed his head in acquiescence and closed his eyes. He felt himself fall into the connection between his ring and the One, and felt along the connection until he felt the guards standing nervously around him. 'Eomer,' his mind whispered. 'King of the Mark, you are still a Man, and thus bound by this ring. You must answer my summons. You are sworn to another, but this one still holds power. Eomer. Show me where you are.'

"Dungeons," he croaked, and one clammy hand reached out blindly to grasp at Aragorn. Boromir felt himself sway and Aragorn call for a damp cloth, which was laid against his burning forehead.

"You did wonderful, my love." Aragorn's voice was close against Boromir's ear. "I have given the order to contain the dungeons and have sent riders after Eowyn. But if you wish to confront Eomer, you need to follow the sound of my voice and return to consciousness. Rest can come with the dawn, dear one. Awaken." Aragorn's fingers brushed over Boromir's hand and pressed lightly against his ring. Boromir choked and sat up quickly, hands clutching at Aragorn to anchor himself. He was still dizzy from using too much power. Aragorn had told him he needed to learn how to control it better, and Boromir wished desperately he could command his ring like Aragorn could the One. Perhaps then he wouldn't have been so weak. Fainting was for children and men who lost blood on the battlefield, not for the Steward of Gondor in his king's quarters.

"Faramir," he coughed and took a grateful sip from one of the guards' canteens. "I need to...where is my brother?"

"Don't be concerned about him. I will take care of Faramir."

"No. Aragorn, no. Please. Let me deal with him."

Aragorn studied his swaying steward for a long moment and Boromir mentally begged him to understand that he wished to make up for this terrible wrong his family had done to his king. Boromir knew he would not rest until he had, even if exhaustion bring him to his knees. Aragorn nodded. "Very well. He's yours."

 

Boromir stepped grimly into the cell. Faramir lay on the floor and Eomer was working at the chains with a rusted key. Seeing Boromir, Eomer straightened and Faramir groaned. "Not now, brother. Give us a bit of privacy, if you don't mind."

Boromir raised an eyebrow. "Outside this room is the king (your king, Eomer) and a host of guards. This is not the best time to be mounted, nor is that the best position in which to do so."

"You should know." Faramir winced as the chain was yanked from the other side of the wall and Boromir knew that to be the signal from the dungeon master that they were surrounded. Faramir would not be able to escape death this time. Eomer moved instinctively to see to his friend but was checked by Boromir's sword suddenly drawn and at his throat.

"Disarm yourself, Eomer." Eomer made no move to comply. "I shall not tell you again."

"I will not submit."

Boromir laughed. "No one is expecting you to. In fact, I hope you do not. Your pain will be so much more fulfilling if you fight."

"Boromir!"

"You knew what chances you took, and one of the risks was being caught. Already we have riders out. They will overtake Eowyn soon, if they have not already. Face it, Eomer King. You have lost."

"I have triumphed. People will see, Boromir. They will see that they can rebel!"

"They will see what happens to those who do rebel," Boromir corrected.

"I worked alone," Eomer said quickly. "I have no organization."

"You'll betray them anyway," Boromir said, bemused by Eomer's attempts to save his friends. Did he truly expect Boromir to believe that a king in rebellion had no one helping him?

"You have no hold over me."

Boromir's mouth quirked upwards. So Eomer had not noticed Boromir's intrusion into his mind. Good. "True. But Aragorn does."

"Aragorn never gets his hands dirty."

"He'll make an exception for you. You are not just a rebel, Eomer, you are a traitor. An oathbreaker." Boromir let that sink in. The Rohirrim prided themselves on always fulfilling any oath they made. They were a proud people and did not take dishonor lightly. Eomer had made a grievous mistake when he allowed himself to be spared and fealty sworn.

Eomer understood his moral peril. His life was forfeit by his own laws if he failed to fulfill a promise made. "I have not raised my hand against the Arathornion."

Boromir's face hardened at the epithet. Eomer had just condemned himself by his words. Only the rebels referred to Aragorn as the son of his father and not worthy of a name of his own. "By your own words you have proclaimed your guilt. Your. Sword. Eomer." And even though Eomer was sworn to another, the ring of Men had power enough to force Eomer into obedience. Boromir felt his strength drain out of him, but pulled Aragorn's close presence around him like a cloak. He could not let these traitors see his weakness. Boromir took the proffered sword and studied the jeweled bauble as it was handed to him. More a toy than a weapon and rather poorly forged. Boromir frowned. Eomer was a warrior. How could a warrior allow himself to carry such an inferior blade? "Now your draggers." Boromir said, and broke the sword over his knee.

"I'm not carrying."

"Come, horsemaster, do you think me a fool?"

"You were to follow that madman."

"And you to rebel. Though how do you know if _I_ am not the power behind the throne and Aragorn merely my puppet?"

"You wear a slave ring!"

"I wear a ring of power, taken from the Witchking himself," Boromir corrected. "Daggers, Eomer."

Boromir saw the flash just in time and brought his sword up to deflect the gleaming steal. The daggers thudded bluntly against the wall and broke from the force.

"Poor weaponry, Eomer, shame on you. What would your uncle say?"

"My uncle is dead, thanks to you."

"He would not swear."

"Faramir did not swear and you spared his life."

"A mercy I greatly regret at the moment. Aragorn told me it would not end well. Foolishly, I did not believe him nor heed his words. I was proud enough to believe that *my* family, the family of the *Stewards*, would not deny their rightful king. But, alas, I am not perfect. I made a mistake, one I shall not make again. No, you both will die this night, or wish you could."

"It matters not. We have already triumphed."

"You have already failed." Aragorn spoke a few words into Boromir's mind, with an added plea to leave the place of danger as quickly as possible. "And Eowyn as well," Boromir went on, ignoring his king's request. Only if Aragorn made it into an order would he be compelled to obey, on his honor. "Your sister is dead, Eomer King. Would you condemn your wife as well?"

"Lothiriel is your spy."

"Not mine. Aragorn's, perhaps, but without my knowledge."

"Then why..." Eomer shut his mouth and exchanged looks with Faramir. Boromir was relaxed enough into the power of his ring to interpret the glance without a thought as to why he understood it.

"Perhaps she is loyal to her king, however unfathomable that may sound to you," he said dryly. "Or perhaps she has a lover in the Palace. Her correspondence is her own affair, as is her curiosity. The child?"

Eomer's head jerked up from his contemplation. "You won't kill him."

"Worse," Faramir whispered. "They'll make him hate you. I know my brother's mind. He can think of no greater revenge than turning the son against the father. The Arathornion started it when he had my brother kill my father, and Boromir, I'm ashamed to say, has taken the lesson to heart."

Boromir ignored his brother. "You are in position to be making threats, Eomer. And you, my dear brother, are in no position to like it or not."

"Boromir believes that if he pretends that we were not friends in the past, that we share no tender memories, then I am of no consequence to his dwindling conscience," Faramir said to Eomer, pulled absently on the chains still manacled to his bruised wrists. "He is in denial that his king will use him and then discard him like he has everyone who ever mattered to him."

"My loyalty is not in question here, Faramir. Eomer's treachery is."

"I said no such thing, brother. I am stating the fact that Aragorn is a manipulator and once he has no use for you, you will cease to live. You have said as much before my face without realizing that you were speaking of yourself. Aragorn is not worthy of your devotion."

"Who do you think convinced him to take the Ring?"

Faramir's face whitened. "You-you didn't, Boromir."

"I did."

"He allowed you to convince him," Eomer said, hesitating for a moment. "He let you talk, all the while moving the conversation around so that you would think you were in control of the conversation. He is a master at that."

"Then you do not know Aragorn. The Ring held no sway over him. It never has and it never will. He was too strong for it to master his will and once he bent it to his will, it cannot go astray. Sauron learned the price of doubting that."

"B-brother..."

"Faramir. And all this time you thought I could be 'saved'." Boromir resisted the urge to laugh in his brother's face. Faramir's expression was almost comical. "Even if you had won, I would never have betrayed my king. You have lost."

"Indeed we have," Faramir said quietly, and Boromir felt something vital die inside his brother. Boromir nodded imperceptibly and called in the guards. He felt Aragorn's power rush by him and he was pressed against the wall, his king's hands holding him back and keeping him close.

"Never make me worry like that again," Aragorn growled. "Eavesdropping does not become a king."

"Yes, my liege," Boromir tried for a tired smile and Aragorn's expression softened.

"Take from my strength, dear one. The night is far from over."

 

Boromir watched dispassionately as Eomer awoke. His work had paid off; Eomer hung suspended from a beam that ran the width of the room. He had hung the knots so that Eomer could be turned around, but other than that had no connection with the room. His feet were a foot above the ground and they began to kick as Eomer began to come back to consciousness. Aragorn's power had knocked him out and he had only grudgingly removed it so that Eomer could return to awareness.

"Where am I?" Eomer asked, looking around at the shadows that surrounded him. Boromir knew that Eomer could not pick him out of the darkness and the thought made him smile. Eomer was completely helpless. Completely at their mercy. How incredibly wonderful.

"The death room of Barad-âr," Aragorn answered, approaching Eomer slowly from the wall.

"Why am I here?" Eomer put as much indignation into his voice as he could. 'I am a King of Men and ruler of the Riddermark', his tone said. 'How dare you imprison me like a common criminal.'

"Don't think me a fool," Aragorn smiled and Eomer shivered, as if suddenly aware that he was completely naked and at the mercy of his liege lord. "Boromir."

Eomer whipped his head around to see Boromir move from the shadow. "Aragorn, it's not what you think."

Boromir stopped a few feet away, putting Aragorn between himself and Eomer. "Of course it's not what I think," Aragorn said, eyes never leaving Boromir's. Slowly, so that Eomer could see his movements, Aragorn let down the rope and Eomer's feet touched the ground, with slack to spare. "You haven't been lusting after my Steward since the first time you met him. You don't want to kill me so he'll be free of me. You don't hate me for taking the one you desire from your grasp." Aragorn turned, beckoning Boromir to him. Boromir obeyed, coming up behind Aragorn and placing his hand in his king's waiting hand. "But let me tell you something, Eomer." Aragorn's voice lowered to a whisper. "He was never in your grasp." Aragorn's foot came out suddenly and kicked Eomer to his knees before them. "You see," he said, moving Boromir before him and undoing his steward's pants as he spoke, "you people, you rebels, think of him as my slave, with a ring that denotes him as such. I like to think of him instead as my partner, my lesser king, so to speak. You see only the slave ring. I see that it once belonged to kings and only they could wear it. You see it as lesser to my Ring, but I know that with his ring, Boromir could rule kingdoms of men. Yet, he chooses to serve me. Why?"

"Because you're a madman!" Eomer answered. Boromir could hear the fear clouding his voice. He truly had no idea what was going to happen.

"No," Aragorn answered, pulling Boromir's pants and leggings down, and then cupping his hardening cock. "Because he loves me, as I love him." Boromir moaned as Aragorn began to stroke him to fullness. The king smiled and then turned Boromir around so that Eomer could see. "And you're going to suck him off." Aragorn kept a tight hold on Boromir's ring hand as Eomer looked from one captor to the other. "Come on, king of Rohan. I know you want to. You forget, _I can see your thoughts_."

Eomer gulped at the reminder and couldn't help but stare at the cock in front of him. Boromir felt himself harden even more at Eomer's gaze. When Aragorn had said that they would not be giving Eomer any pleasure but that he would be pleasuring them both, Boromir hadn't known what to expect. He certainly hadn't expected this vision before him: a king forced to kneel, hands still suspended above his head, long hair mangy all about him. A king on his knees before Boromir. 'Nothing less than you deserve,' Aragorn's voice whispered in his mind. 'I didn't lie when I said I thought of you as a lesser king.'

'I certainly like being under you,' Boromir replied, a wicked smile plastered on his lips as he took a small step forward, forcing his cock against Eomer's closed lips. "Open for me," he ordered softly and Eomer did, pink tongue darting out to taste the drops collecting at the head of Boromir's cock. Boromir's hand tightened on Aragorn's as Eomer took him as deep as he could and began to suck. 'Shall I tell you what he's thinking?' Aragorn asked, clearly amused at the spectacle before him. 'Shall I tell you how much he's wishing I wasn't here, that it was just you and he in a bed somewhere, somewhere where he could show you how much he wants you? Shall I tell you his private fantasies, ones he's been collecting and perfecting since that fated day the two of you met? There's a rather interesting one we shall have to try, with includes a quite industrial use for sweetwine. He thinks you're very sweet, my dear. He wants more of you. Give it to him." At Aragorn's insistence, Boromir pushed his hips forward, forcing more of himself into Eomer's willing mouth, almost choking Rohan's king in the process. 'Slowly, my love,' Aragorn admonished. 'He isn't used to you, and we don't want to kill him just yet. He has to suffer first, and swallowing you, I'm sorry to say, does not qualify as suffering.'

Boromir smiled coldly at that and tightened his hold on Aragorn. He wanted his king to share in the pleasure he was receiving from Eomer's unskilled mouth. What Eomer lacked in experience he made up for in longing, in having had planned this since he was little more than a child. When Aragorn had told him Eomer's reason for rebellion, Boromir was hardly able to believe it, but now, seeing Eomer cowed before them and happy to undertake such a demeaning task for his captor, Boromir began to understand Eomer's justifications for his actions. And Eomer did have a sweet mouth.

'Further, my love. Make him ache for it the way I ache for you when you are not close to me. Let him know that I, and always I, come before him in your estimations. Let him know that this is only happening because I allowed it to. Such a debt of guilty gratitude is a wonderful parting gift, do you not agree?'

'Oh, yes.' Boromir licked his lips and forced himself all the way down Eomer's willing throat. A pretty blush was reddening Eomer's face nicely, adding just the right amount of shame to the encounter. Boromir felt Eomer swallow around him and almost moaned. Aragorn's warning presence in his mind helped him keep a hold on his noises. Eomer could never be allowed to know how much pleasure Boromir was receiving from Eomer's degradation. For all the confessions of the night, Eomer still trusted Boromir in some small part of his mind. It would make his death all the more delicious.

'Aragorn!'

'Yes, my love?' Aragorn's mental voice was very amused by the spectacle and Boromir felt himself grow even closer.

'I'm about to - I need to...Aragorn!'

Aragorn chuckled. 'Pull out, Boromir. His face is too pretty. I want you to mark it. I want it to mingle with his tears and bring his shame even closer to the surface. Pull out, Boromir.'

Reluctantly, Boromir obeyed and Eomer made a small noise of protest as he lost the one thing he had longed for all his life. Aragorn's fingers stroking the inside of Boromir's palm gave Boromir the only encouragement needed and he came all over Eomer's face. He watched in fascination as Eomer's pink tongue darted out to lick it up, as Eomer tried to savor the taste.

Aragorn heard the things Boromir could only dare to think. 'What can I say, my love? You're so wonderful that everyone wants you. But only I can have you.'

'And that's how it should be,' he whispered in contentment and leaned back into Aragorn's arms, feeling Aragorn's heart beat against him. Boromir's breath slowed until they breathed as one and Boromir felt himself become submerged into Aragorn's will. It was a comfortable feeling, like an old, worn, and much beloved blanket, and Aragorn soothing over all his fears was like feeding an addiction. Boromir sighed in happiness as Aragorn's arms tightened around him, giving him his instructions. Eomer remained kneeling at their feet and Boromir took the jeweled daggers from his and Aragorn's belts. He tapped the blunt side of Aragorn's under Eomer's bowed head and raised the deposed king's face, all the while reveling in Aragorn's arms still encircling him.

"Kiss the blade, Eomer, and make this a blood oath."

Shamed beyond all pride, Eomer kissed it, then allowed Boromir to slice his cheeks. He kissed the blade again, tasting his blood mingling with the steel.

"Swear by this, Eomer King. That you will devote the rest of your life, however short that may be, to the pleasure of your king, to Aragorn Elessar, the Renewer. That you will not rest until you know that you have not been found lacking in your king's eyes. That your every thought will be of your king's welfare and that you will look to your king's desires before your own. This is the oath of the truly devoted. Swear it. Swear it by blood and steel, on your life and on the life of your son. Swear it on the remnants of your tattered and shattered honor, Eomer, son of Eomund, King of the Riddermark."

"I - I swear it."

Boromir pressed the point of the dagger into Eomer's throat. He almost whimpered as Aragorn moved out from behind him to stand against the cold stone wall. "Oathbreaker, I name you, for you have broken fealty with treachery. This renewed oath shall bind you all the days and hours of your returned life. Avow it."

"I do affirm your words, Lord Steward."

"The king has found you guilty of treason. Have you anything to say on your behalf?"

Eomer cleared his throat. "Everything I did, I did for love."

"Of something that was not yours," Boromir corrected gently and pricked at Eomer's collarbone. "Eomer, disavow your love."

"Boromir!"

Boromir ground the point of the dagger into Eomer and Eomer stifled a scream. "Disavow it. Swear you give up this love. Swear it on your blood oath, if you must. Because understand this, Eomer King. I was never yours, and I never shall be. My king was never yours save now and my fealty never shared. I repudiate your love for me, Eomer of the Mark." Eomer flinched as if he had been struck and Boromir cut deeper with the blade. "Your blood is forfeit for every moment you do not obey. Do you wish to bleed your life out onto the floor?"

"I will anyway," Eomer cried. "For you shall not let me leave here alive. Why strip me of my only," Eomer choked and Aragorn took the moment to yank the rope up to its original height, dragging Eomer off his knees. "Why strip me of my only comfort?"

"Because your love is against your oath. I belong to Aragorn and he does not share what is his." Boromir raised a hand to forestall Eomer's objections. "As you say, you shall not leave this chamber alive. What degradations you endure are yours to cherish forever, and have not been witnessed." Aragorn's hand snaked around Eomer's hip and Boromir grasped it. Aragorn took the bloodied blade from Boromir and tasted it. At that moment, he thrust inside. Eomer screamed. Boromir smiled. Aragorn took up a steady rhythm, thrusting upwards, careful to give Eomer no pleasure. "Have you any last words, deposed king of Rohan?" Aragorn thrust harder. "Answer me, commoner. Captive. Slave. Your life is forfeit for your deceit. Have you any last words?" Eomer opened his mouth and screamed.

Aragorn's eyes glinted with Eomer's pain and fear as Aragorn handed Boromir the silver, unblooded knife. "Kill him."

Boromir caressed the blade against Eomer's panting chest and then began to carve into the flesh above Eomer's heart. "This is what happens to men that try to betray my King." Eomer's eyes opened even wider in horror and Aragorn handed Boromir the second knife, thrusting harder and harder.

Boromir watched in wonder as rivers of blood began to run down Eomer's sweat-soaked chest and one white rib poked clean out. Eomer's cheeks bled true and mingled in his matted hair, staining it beautifully. Boromir held out a finger and wiped away some of the flowing blood, offering it to his king. Aragorn accepted the blood offering graciously and Eomer screamed his throat raw.

Finally Eomer's beating heart was laid bare. Eomer had long been reduced to a shuddering, crying slab of blood, but Aragorn placed a hand on Boromir's blood-soaked wrist.

"Not yet. Unman him first."

Boromir nodded and, with two short flicks of the blade, obeyed his king's command. The flesh that had once been the king of Rohan screamed anew and its tears mingled with the flowing blood. Boromir was covered from nose to navel with gore and blood and splatters of it adorned his pants.

"Do you repent, Eomer?" Aragorn whispered harshly against Eomer's sliced ear. "Are you sorry for wanting what is mine? Good. It will make your death so much sweeter. He's _mine_, Rider." And with that, Aragorn released his hold on Boromir's wrist and the silver dagger nicked at Eomer's heart, killing him.

Aragorn thrust for the last time and then spent himself in the slowly cooling body. Stepping back, he surveyed the damage done. Eomer's body was unrecognizable and almost ripe for the funeral pyre. Boromir's skin was red and he was glowing from enjoyment of the task.

"Clean yourself up," he ordered softly, caressing Boromir's blooded wrist as he did so. "There's something I need to attend to. I'll meet you in bed."

 

Boromir would have passed by the closed door without thought had he not heard raised voices coming from within, and the sound of flesh smacking flesh. Concerned, he opened the door slowly and tried to move soundlessly. A mere squeak betrayed the steward's interest, but it was enough to alert the inhabitants.

"Ah, Boromir, welcome," Aragorn half-turned to face his steward, kicking the chained man at his feet in the process. Two guards held the chains firmly in black-gloved hands and Boromir could see that Aragorn had stripped them of their will and consciousness. They would not be aware of the Palace burning down around them if Aragorn did not take them first out of the trance. Boromir's sense of unease grew. This was more than a torture session, then. But if it was indeed an interrogation...

"What's going on, Aragorn? Why did you not summon me here?" Boromir did not move from his position by the door and tried to make out the identity of the prisoner, who groaned suddenly and futility attempted to avoid Aragorn's merciless assault. Boromir saw that the chains were arranged in such a way that the prisoner could neither stand nor sit. He could only sway from the chains and beg for respite. And then the prisoner moaned. Boromir paled in realization. "Aragorn..."

"I told you, my love," Aragorn said, with a well-placed kick into Faramir's stomach. Faramir cried out in pain and doubled over as best he could, trying to protect himself. Faramir's skin was marked with bruises through his tattered rags and his eye was almost swollen shut. "I told you that I would not let him hurt you."

"Aragorn," Boromir was fixed to the spot and could not bring himself to move either forward or backward. In all his nightmares, he had never expected to see this sight. "What are you doing?" He felt true panic begin to coil in his chest and move to capture his lungs. He fought to keep his voice calm. "You promised you would leave him to me."

"Bo'mir?" Faramir groaned and spat blood. He fought to raise his head. "Bo'mir, what are y'doing 'ere?" he slurred, glaring at Aragorn as best he could from his position.

Both steward and king ignored him. "Do you remember, dear Boromir? Do you remember the day your brother first denied me?"

"Yes." Of course he did. It was the first time Faramir had ever disappointed him. It was the first time Boromir had ever been proven wrong before his king.

"And do you remember that I was positive that letting him live would be a mistake?"

"Yes."

"And then I told you that though I would let you be his jailer, if extenuating circumstances occurred, I would step in. Do you remember that?"

"Yes."

"Extenuating circumstances have occurred," said Aragorn darkly. "He has conspired to betray both me and you. He has plotted to commit treason and has corrupted a royal guardsman!" Aragorn kicked the chain attached to Faramir's neck and watched in satisfaction as Faramir screamed. Aragorn continued softly, "I would not expect you to condone this. I would not expect you to be able to sit comfortably by while I interrogated your brother. I would never ask that of you."

"And so you hid it from me." Strangely, that seemed of more importance to Boromir than the fact that Aragorn was slowly killing his brother.

"I feared if I told you, you would attend only out of loyalty, and that would be akin to forcing you."

"You've forced me before," Boromir said frostily, "and that was for mere pettiness. But this is my brother, my liege. I would think that I would hold interest in this case!" Without realizing it, Boromir approached his brother and knelt in front of him on the hard stone floor. He reached out to caress his brother's face and then noticed belatedly what he was doing. Careful of what he looked like, he took the neck chain in his hand gently and lifted the collar. He absently realized that he had placed himself between an enraged king and the source of his anger, but brushed it off. After all, he had been the scapegoat of Aragorn's anger often enough. "Faramir. Look at me," he ordered softly, pointedly ignoring his king. Faramir looked up slowly, pure pain reflected in his eyes. "Faramir. Answer me. Did you knowingly betray my trust?"

"Y'never trust'd me." Faramir's lips were bleeding and Boromir shifted uncomfortably, memories of Eomer still too fresh and unsettled. There was still blood under his fingernails and, as Aragorn had said, the night was far from over.

"Oh, I did. I trusted you, Faramir. Did you conspire to betray me?"

"Not you, Boromir. *Him*."

Boromir could feel Aragorn's anger growing and licked his lips. Aragorn would not stand idly by for much longer and Faramir deserved a better end than the one Aragorn would give him. "Why did you do that, Faramir?"

"Didn't deserve y'."

"Can you be more specific?"

"Used you. Ensla-ensla-," Faramir tried, but couldn't get his bruised lips around the word. "'Littled you," he said instead. "Made you less. Treat'd you badly."

"I told you he wasn't."

"B'cause y'were being deshived!" Faramir spat blood and a few teeth. He watched in slow fascination as his blood dripped out of his open mouth, splattering on the floor. "He was controlling you," he enunciated carefully, bitterly aware of how little time was left to him.

"You were wrong, Faramir. I love him. I did before he was my king. I love him now. Faramir. Tell me. Tell me about Beregond."

"Wanted t'help. Said I was his lord and he would let no usurper come before me in his hear'." Wonderful, Boromir thought. We were betrayed by a lovesick guard. "Ran mes'ages between me and Eomer. Tol' me what y'were doing."

"How long?"

"Since the beginnin'."

"Beginning?" Of what?

Faramir shivered as shock had a chance to settle in and Boromir had to visibly resist the urge to comfort his brother. He knew he couldn't. Aragorn would take it as a sign of betrayal and he had had enough of that tonight. "Coro-coro-coronation."

"And Eomer? How long have you been plotting with him?"

"'Nation."

"His? Or Aragorn's?"

Faramir shrugged as best he could in the confining chains. "Does it matter?"

"I suppose not. And what would you do with me once your plans went into fruitation?"

"Not hur' you!"

Well, that was comforting. "But you would make me trade places with you so that I was jailed and you were free."

"No! No so, Bo'mir. Take his ring off you. Free you."

"And what would have done to Aragorn?" Boromir dared not risk looking back. He knew Aragorn's face would look terrible and his wrath would still be deciding at which brother to be directed.

"Kill 'im."

But of course. "And take his Ring?" That was important. Had the Ring escaped Aragorn's control and was looking for a new master? Even in such a state, Aragorn would understand the reasoning behind the question.

Faramir looked plaintively into Boromir's eyes. "He's not worthy of ruling Gondor!"

"The Ring, Faramir! Would you have taken the Ring?"

"No," Faramir said weakly and sagged in his chains, tears falling freely down his cheeks. Boromir wasn't sure it they were from pain from his wounds, or from his heart. "No."

"Then what would you do with it?"

"D'stroy it."

Anger seized him. Didn't Faramir realize that would kill Aragorn and, thus, kill Boromir? "Who were your fellow conspirators?"

"Bo'mir," Faramir tried to reach out weakly but his broken fingers fell short of Boromir's cheek. "Why are y'so mad? Just want'd to free you."

"Don't blame this on me, Faramir," Boromir said coldly. "Your faults are entirely your own. I do not share them. You were party to _treason_, Faramir!" Boromir calmed himself down forcefully. He could not show emotion, not here, not now. "Who did you corrupt?

"No'ne."

Boromir closed his eyes and reluctantly called on the power of his ring. He hadn't wanted to force Faramir. Even now he recognized that he didn't want to believe his family could be traitors. It was a grievous and haughty fault. Aragorn was the only one he could ever trust to be true to him and to take care to never hurt him. "Faramir, you try my patience. Who was privy to your conspiracy?"

Faramir jerked forward and Boromir cursed himself for putting too much power into his voice. He had to learn control. Faramir listed a few names in a slowing slur and Boromir could see the quickly approaching end. Aragorn had beaten his brother almost to death and the lack of care was finishing the job.

"Is that all?"

Faramir nodded.

"Is there anything you're not telling me?"

"'e loved you. Eomer. Loved you."

"Yes, I know."

"Jealous," Faramir added. "Was my idea, though. For Eowyn?"

"Yes. You'll die for Eowyn. As Eomer died for me." Boromir watched Faramir start at that and had to remind himself that Eomer was only recently dead. It seemed so long ago that he had carved into that pretty flesh and stilled a beating heart with his knife. The kill was still fresh, the way Eomer's body had cooled in his hands as he brought it to the pyre, the way the blood had clung to his hands. Eomer was only recently dead. Of course Faramir had not known of it. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Y'r a murdering bastard."

"Yes, I know." Boromir stood and, before Aragorn could stop him, had his sword out and skewered his younger brother through the heart. Finally allowing his tears to fall, he turned to face his king. "That, my liege," he spat coldly as he walked past his lover, "is how you conduct an interrogation." He did not pause as he walked out, nor did he hesitate when Aragorn shouted his name after him.

Boromir slept in his chambers that night.


End file.
